


Art

by Untested_Waters



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Art, Blow Jobs, Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, Drawing, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Game of Thrones spoilers, Gay Sex, M/M, Music, One Shot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Untested_Waters/pseuds/Untested_Waters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Art (noun): the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power. A lazy Sunday for two...artists. (Jean/Marco, PWP, MxM, sexual content, oneshot)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm obsessed with the two of them right now and this came about and I couldn't focus on anything else until I wrote it down. PWP basically, but honestly what else am I good for?  
> Warnings: So this is a modern AU so there are no SNK spoilers. However, there are spoilers for Game of Thrones and Penny Dreadful (I know it seems kind of random now but I figured a warning would be nice). Also, MxM and sexual content. And a preponderance of fluff.  
> Enjoy!

“Would you sit still?” The voice that broke the moment of silence was meant to be chastising but was too naturally gentle to fully accomplish that.

 

The restless object of discussion rustled again on the couch, wriggling in an attempt to get comfortable. A half-hearted apology came from said object, which was in fact a person. Then, said person turned a minorly peeved glare on their companion. “How am I supposed to ‘sit still’ while playing an instrument?” This voice was usually gruff with annoyance and lifted with self-importance, but as it reach Marco’s ears, he smiled as it sounded only soft and sweet.

 

“You can move your hands to play the guitar but pick a position to sit in, Jean. I’ve started over four times now,” was the response, decorated with a light chuckle.

 

Jean rolled his eyes and nudged Marco’s thigh playfully with his foot, if only to see him smile again, as he sat back, leaning against the arm of the couch as he resettled his calloused fingertips over the strings of his guitar.

 

They sat like that for a long space of minutes, the only sound being the delicate chords that Jean strummed with his thin fingers and the quiet scratch of Marco’s pencil against the page.

 

Soon, Jean grew bored of looking at his own hands and chose instead to look at Marco, though he didn’t stop playing. Jean loved the look on Marco’s face as he drew. It was his concentration face. His knees were drawn upward, notebook resting atop them so he could hunch over the page, his face so close to it that Jean wondered how he didn’t poke himself in the eye with his pencil. His face was, in Jean’s professional opinion, so adorable that it ought to be outlawed; his eyebrows were quirked in an odd way that Jean was sure only Marco could execute and the tip of his tongue poked out from between his lips in a way that made Jean want to bite at those lips, which he knew were so soft and eager.

 

Jean hadn’t even realized he was staring until Marco looked up, no doubt to take another look at his art subject and not because he had sensed the weight of Jean’s eyes. Marco smiled at him then, one of those perfect smiles that caused the freckles near his eyes to disappear into the creases that his grin made. “Don’t smile now Jean. I’ll have to redraw your face,” Marco complained, though his tone was light and happy. 

 

Jean immediately wiped the smile off his face and replaced it with a miffed purse of his lips. “What? Are you saying I wasn’t smiling before?” he said, a pouty note to his tone.

 

Marco chuckled lightly at that, looking back down at his notebook and observing how he’d drawn Jean’s trademark scowl. Shaking his head lightly, he murmured, “Definitely not,” with clear fondness in his words. 

 

Marco liked Jean’s concentration face almost as much as Jean liked Marco’s. There was something about the way his eyebrows drew together, creating a crease in between them, closer to the right one, and lines in his forehead that Marco affectionately referred to as “stress lines,” that complemented the tight downward turn of his lips. Frankly, he looked pissed. Even as he strummed the light, lilting chords of a love song, he looked like he was ready to snap his guitar in two, but Marco knew that wasn’t the case. Jean was never more at ease than he was when he was playing music, just like Marco was most at ease than when he had a pencil between his fingertips and a blank page in front of his nose.

 

Jean simply snorted in response and shuffled around a bit, attempting to peek over the edge of the page in Marco’s lap. “Oh yeah? Then what do I look like in your drawing?” But Marco leaned away, hugging the sketchbook to his chest, effectively concealing it from Jean’s peeping eyes.

 

“No peeking!” he said, though that perfect smile still dominated his features. Jean simply rolled his eyes, grumbling something about ‘pesky boyfriends’ as he leaned back again, trying to get comfy on the couch cushions. His long legs were arching to stretch out so he ended up tucking his feet somewhere in the cushions underneath Marco’s butt. The freckled boy didn’t seem to mind, simply returning his focus to his art. Jean watched as the tip of his tongue snaked back out in concentration.

 

Another long section of time (or at least it felt long to Jean) passed before Jean settled his guitar in his lap. Marco hardly took note of the absence of sound, simply glancing over at Jean only to remember the details of the shirt he was wearing. Jean leaned his head back against the arm of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. He almost wanted to close his eyes, maybe doze a little to give Marco the chance to finally finish up his drawing. But he was too high strung to simply melt into the couch and fall into dream land.

 

So he sighed heavily and settled for staring at Marco instead. Not a bad past time, really. A couple minutes past without Marco looking up and Jean thought that was probably a good thing, because shouldn’t he really know what Jean looked like by now? It was only once the growing boredom began gnawing at Jean enough for him to start counting the freckles on Marco’s face that Marco spoke. “I can feel you staring, Jean,” he said, voice quiet, but obviously amused.

 

Jean only hummed in response, something that made Marco roll his eyes at how noncommittal it was, but not something that made him look up. Even when Jean started wiggling his feet in their position underneath Marco’s butt, the other boy pointedly ignored him in favor of the two-dimensional Jean in his lap. 

 

Jean narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, something that Marco could see from the corner of his eye and recognized as Jean’s thinking look. And not thinking in the sense of actually thinking like a normal, intelligent person would do. No, thinking as in scheming or plotting, which was usually good for no one but Jean. 

 

But Marco continued to simply ignore Jean in favor of sketching the shadows on his face. Jean, however, was a man who could only be ignored for so long, so when his attempts at disturbing Marco’s drawing continued to fail, he heaved a hefty sigh as he placed his guitar in its case, which was on the floor just beside him, and finally blurted, “Gimme your notebook.”

 

Marco, who had experienced dramatic situations such as this plenty of times before, simply quirked an eyebrow at Jean, not even paying him enough mind to draw his tongue back into his mouth. 

 

Jean sat up, pulling his legs under him criss-cross style and he scooted closer to Marco on the couch, shoving his shoulder lightly as not to actually ruin his drawing. “C’mon, I’m serious. I wanna draw something for you,” he said, lightening his tone to try to coax Marco into conceding. 

 

Marco at least picked up his head, finally, and looked over at Jean with a skeptical look in his eyes. His teeth tugged on his lower lip for a moment (something Jean took careful note of) before he shifted to face Jean a little, letting his legs fall from where they were huddled near his chest. He held his notebook out to Jean, saying, “Alright,” but held tightly to it as Jean went to take it from him. When Marco didn’t let go, the triumphant grin faded from Jean’s face. He opened his mouth to protest but Marco cut him off before he could. “On one condition,” Marco adds sternly, to which Jean slumps a little and sighs heavily. “Don’t peek at what I drew today. It’s not done yet.”

 

Jean brightened at this. That was it? That would be easy. Now that Jean had his own plan in mind, his curiosity regarding Marco’s sketches had diminished drastically. He eagerly took the sketchbook and the pencil from Marco and then returned to his previous position, this time stretching his legs out and putting his feet in Marco’s lap. 

 

Marco accepted that graciously and settled into the couch to watch Jean work. It was very intriguing to see the different expressions scurry across his face. He went from grinning, to that concentrated scowl, to snickering to himself, to frowning as he erased and blew away the shavings, to copying (probably subconsciously) Marco’s tongue-out look all in a matter of minutes. 

 

Idly, Marco’s hands drifted to Jean’s feet in his lap and began rubbing one carefully. It wasn’t something new; oftentimes they’d sit like this at night, especially when they were watching Game of Thrones (Jean flailed way too much during that for Marco to stand cuddling with him). Honestly, it was a habit Marco had picked up when Jean had continuously complained that his shoes hurt his feet and made them sore. Marco had tried to convince Jean to be sensible and simply buy new shoes, like a normal person, but that is an argument Marco will never win for reasons entirely unfathomable to him.

 

Other than a faint sigh of relief laced with sore pain, Jean didn’t react to Marco’s hands and continued hurriedly scratching away at the page before him. He would glance up occasionally, but never say anything, and Marco could only assume that he was being used as a model for Jean’s masterpiece. He didn’t mind, of course; he’d drawn Jean countless times so it was only fair.

 

Marco was very interested to see the outcome of this. Jean had doodled before, per request of Marco, but he was always very nonchalant about it and it was obvious that he had never really tried. He was always reluctant to draw anything, claiming to be a horrible artist, especially compared to Marco’s own talent. 

 

It was a few minutes after Marco had moved his hands to Jean’s other foot that Jean was finally finished, grinning like a shot fox as he pulled his legs away from Marco and moved to his knees beside him. 

 

“Are you ready to let me see?” Marco asked, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips.

 

Jean bit his bottom lip to temper his grin as he leaned forward, nodding. Marco thought that look was cute, but he still watched him with dubious eyes as he lifted the sketchpad to hold it just under his nose. 

 

Jean had the perfect view to see Marco’s reaction up close and it. Was. Beautiful. There was a moment of confusion when Marco’s eyebrows drew together. That was followed by a moment of realization as his eyes went wide. And then -- and this was Jean’s favorite part -- Marco’s face settled on embarrassed as a blush crawled from his cheeks, all the way up his ears.

 

“J-Jean!” he scolded, though his voice was more than a little breathless. Jean waggled his eyebrows at him over the top of the page, his shit-eating grin going unseen. 

 

“Whatdya think?” he asked slyly. 

 

“W-Well...it’s certainly s-something,” Marco mumbles, stuttering his way through his words as his hands begin to clam up. 

 

Marco had never seen anything like what graced the page of his notebook. Actually, no. Not graced. Soiled. What Jean decided to draw and show him was a crude drawing of what Marco inferred to be him, sitting on the couch, legs spread wide with his hand fisted around his cock (which simply could not be drawn even remotely to-scale). Better yet was the fact that Jean must have drawn his face last and been horrendously bored at that point, because it was little more than a circle with a cartoon version of what Marco assumed Jean interpreted Marco’s “sex face” to be inside of it (they’d had that conversation before; Jean had mimicked it for him and Marco had decided he never wanted to see himself have sex, ever). At least he’d made a half-hearted attempt to throw what could resemble Marco’s hair (if you closed one eye and squinted a little) on there. But the pièce de résistance was the speech bubble above it all with the words, “Oh, Jean!” written in Jean’s messy scrawl.

 

It made Marco want to crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment. But looking at Jean’s face, seeing how proud of himself he was, Marco simply couldn’t find it in him to say anything to make Jean feel bad or ruin the moment (whatever moment Jean thought he was creating anyway). 

 

“It’s…” Marco began again, and he could sense Jean hanging on his every word. As his embarrassment died down a little, Marco leaned closer, observing the lines of the artwork and with a tilt of his head, he blurted, “Well, actually, it’s not that bad.” 

 

Jean seemed surprised by this, genuinely so. He turned it back around so he could look at it and scrunched his nose at it (which Marco thought was ridiculously cute). “Really?” he said, all cocky seductiveness vanishing from his tone.

 

“Yeah,” Marco said with a shrug. “I mean, there are some obvious places that got a little more attention than others,” he said with a note of mild accusation in his voice as the blush returned to his dappled cheeks, “but parts of it aren’t terrible. With a little schooling in scale and shading, you could probably do something really good.”

 

Jean wasn’t stupid. He knew Marco was just being nice to him. Really. Jean wasn’t the type of guy to sell himself short. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He was an arrogant, cocky kind of guy, but he knew his limits. And this, art, was not a talent that he possessed. Marco simply didn’t have a mean bone in his body and he was always willing to offer words of encouragement.

 

Setting the sketchpad gingerly on top of his guitar, which lay in its still-open case, Jean leaned even closer to Marco, the grin returning to his face. “Well, maybe if I had a better image to...inspire me,” he whispered.

 

Marco’s blush spread at his words, but he didn’t break eye contact with Jean. He wondered when lazy-Jean had turned into frisky-Jean but didn’t have a complaint about it. Jean’s spontaneous horniness was something Marco had come to expect and, though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, enjoy.

 

Marco could feel the corners of his mouth twitching again, threatening to betray him as he tried to keep a straight face. “I might be able to find something for you online,” he offered in response, playing coy with him.

 

Jean’s eyes seemed to light up at this, pleased that Marco was playing along and not shoving him away. “Hmm...I’m not sure if that would cut it. I’m more of a hands-on learner,” he said, feeling his breath mingle with Marco’s as the latter let out an airy laugh at his words. Jean had effectively trapped Marco in the corner of the couch now, leaning over him with one hand on the arm of the couch and the other on the back of it.

 

“Well,” Marco said, though he glanced away, denoting that he was embarrassed by what he was about to say, “I’m sure we can come up with something helpful for you.” His smile was back in full force at this point, revealing his perfect teeth. Honestly, Jean didn’t know how Marco had gotten so perfect. He had to have been born that way and he had to have been God’s gift to the Earth, because frankly Jean could find no fault in him. From his smile, to his laugh, to the way he pouted when Jean was grouchy, to his rocking bod, to his huge appetite, to the way he talked to everyone the same way no matter who they were, all the way back to his adorable, freckled face. 

 

Marco simply smiled up at Jean, waiting for him to lean in just that little bit further as he knew he would. He felt the brush of Jean’s lips, but nothing more. Seeking that much desired contact, Marco found himself leaning forward, just a little bit, his neck straining upward as he sought out Jean’s mouth. As he stretched further and further, still without getting what he wanted, he finally realized he was being teased. He opened his eyes to see Jean’s sparkling back at him, mischief dancing across his face as he grinned at Marco.

 

“Jerk,” Marco mumbled.

 

Jean simply laughed and leaned in to grant Marco’s wish at last. When their lips finally touched, it was nothing like what Marco had been expecting. He’d thought that Jean would delve right into the hot, messy kisses that spoke of his feisty mood, but that’s not what he got at all. Warm, gentle lips pressed slowly and softly against Marco’s. He responded immediately but felt no desire to change the pace that had been set or to deepen the kiss. He was happy letting Jean take the reins.

 

Marco could feel Jean’s lips tug into some sort of smirk and the thought of how silly that was had Marco giggling like a child into Jean’s mouth. This, of course, made Jean chuckle, though it was little more than air coming out of his nose, which in turn made Marco giggle some more. The cycle continued endlessly, the two of them laughing airily while they pressed their lips together lazily. 

 

Soon enough, there was just as much laughter as there was kissing and when Jean’s knees began to ache from his uncomfortable position hovering over Marco, he simply pinched the fabric of Marco’s shirt and tumbled backward onto the couch, effectively pulling Marco on top of him.

 

His befreckled partner turned cherry red at this, but nonetheless settled himself between Jean’s thighs, bracing himself with one hand on the cushion next to Jean’s shoulder and the other on the arm of the couch just behind his head. The smile had slipped off of Marco’s face and Jean could see his eyebrows creeping together, meaning he was about to succumb to being nervous. And that was something Jean would never understand. After years of being together, Marco still lit up like a Christmas tree and stuttered his way through everything when Jean made him call the shots. 

 

Sensing Marco’s hesitation, Jean flashed him one of those toothy grins, which at least coaxed a twitch of Marco’s lips, before he raised one hand from where they lay still on Marco’s hips and moved it to the back of his neck, running his fingers through the short hair of Marco’s undercut before using this new leverage to pull Marco’s mouth back to his. 

 

Marco was surprised to find Jean’s kisses still slow and sweet, no rush or force to it. Marco had been expecting a raging, untamed wildfire, but instead he was given a crackling fireplace on a cold winter’s night. At once, it was entirely unexpected and everything Marco wanted.

 

The pleasant warmth of Jean’s hand on his hip was comforting as they continued their languid kissing, and he breathed a happy sigh when Jean’s fingers scratched lightly at the back of his head. Marco cracked open his eyes to peek at Jean only to find him staring up at him. Mildly startled, Marco moved back an inch or two and frowned sternly at Jean. “Have you been staring at me this whole time?” he asked, tone equal parts embarrassed, accusatory, and amused.

 

Jean only hummed in response, grinning as he reclaimed Marco’s lips. Marco could still feel the smirk on Jean’s lips and tried to combat it with his own frown but as he kept hold of Jean’s eyes with his own, he found it impossible.

 

It was minutes later -- minutes of this oddly-intimate feeling of slow, damp kisses and a heated look of affection in Jean’s eyes -- that Marco felt a hot wetness prod at his lips and he immediately opened his mouth with a light gasp to allow Jean’s tongue inside.

 

Despite Jean deepening their kiss, he didn’t change the pace or the feel of it. Marco was honestly surprised at how well Jean was restraining himself. Usually, Jean was eager and bawdy, pulling Marco’s clothes from him hurriedly and ravaging his mouth expertly to make him feel light-headed so he could rush them to their impending release and make Marco call his name.

 

But now he held Marco prisoner in his gaze, his fingers tangled relatively tightly into the dark hair at the nape of Marco’s neck, tongues curling against one another as if time stood still, waiting for them to drown in each other. The feeling was so intense that it was nearly overwhelming and it had Marco blushing all the way to his ears again as he thought about it.

 

Somewhere in the middle of all this, Jean’s hand on his hip moved, slipping just under the soft fabric of Marco’s shirt to touch the even softer skin of his side. A muffled noise escaped Marco’s lips, only to be swallowed up by Jean’s simpering mouth. Those searing fingers trailed up along Marco’s ribcage, causing his teeth to close lightly around Jean’s lower lip as he fought the urge to giggle at the feathery sensation. Marco was very ticklish around his ribs, a fact that Jean was well-aware of.

 

Jean chuckled at the expression on Marco’s face and brushed his hand over that same spot just to hear him make that noise again. He did. He pulled his mouth away from Jean’s to clamp his lips shut, trapping any further laughter that might dare to try and escape. Marco looked away from Jean’s amused face, knowing he’d laugh more if Jean was laughing with him and not wanting to give the little devil that satisfaction.

 

Seeing Marco’s resilience, Jean firmed his touch into something more purposeful, dragging his hand upward and with it, the hem of Marco’s shirt. He took his other hand away from Marco’s hair and placed it on the now-bare skin of Marco’s lower back, tracing his fingertips lazily up the length of Marco’s spine.

 

Marco made another soft sound and the air from it passed hotly over Jean’s neck, where Marco had buried his blushing face. Jean turned his head and planted a soft kiss on Marco’s cheek before trailing his lips to his jaw, mouthing small, wet kisses down the length of it and then nosing at him until he lifted his chin enough to allow Jean access to the vulnerable flesh of his neck. 

 

Jean took a nip at the spot just beneath his jaw, where someone would check his pulse, and the resulting grunt from Marco was music to his ears. He did it again to see if he could evoke that same noise, but Marco clenched his teeth and held it in. 

 

Feeling inspired and more determined, Jean pressed the palms of his hands into Marco’s back and slid them sensually up over his shoulder, effectively baring his abdomen and most of his chest to Jean’s wandering hands. The sigh that fell out of Marco’s mouth was enough to make Jean smile against the skin of his throat. Those smiling lips trailed down further, carefully placing tender kisses along the taut cords of Marco’s neck, causing the older boy to whimper softly. Jean hummed happily in response and nuzzled Marco’s neck with his nose before moving back to press his lips against his ear and then whisper, “Take it off.”

 

Marco hesitated only a second before slowly sitting up, silently thankful for the chance to take the weight off his arms. Reaching behind his head, he grabbed his shirt where it had bunched around his shoulders and then pulled it off, discarding it carefully onto the floor beside the couch. 

 

Jean’s hands rested back on Marco’s hips where the top of his underwear peeked out from where his jeans didn’t conceal them. He traced his fingers there for a moment while he appreciated the sight of Marco’s bare chest. It was a sight he never got bored of, really. Marco had always had broad shoulders which tapered down to his trim waist and it was something Jean found extremely satisfying in a number of ways. 

 

Marco’s own hands rested almost weightlessly on Jean’s chest as he looked down at him, watching how Jean’s eyes trailed leisurely up and down the expanse of his naked torso. Marco felt the color rise to his cheeks and he willed it away to no avail.

 

“Jean -”

 

“Shh…”

 

Marco fell silent, no longer looking Jean in the eye but instead casting his eyes toward his own fingertips which fiddled restlessly with a loose string on the collar of Jean’s shirt. In the next moment, Jean too was sitting up, looping his fingers through Marco’s belt loops for leverage. Consequently, Marco’s hands fell away from his chest and Jean didn’t hesitate to grab them and lead them to the bottom of his own top. Marco caught on quickly and soon he was pulling the white, cotton tank top over Jean’s head. He tossed it in the same direction as his own shirt before Jean wrapped his arms around Marco’s shoulders and pulled him with him as he fell back against the couch once more.

 

That’s when the change in pace Marco had been anticipating happened, though it was different than how he’d imagined it. It wasn’t as abrupt as he thought it might be. Instead, Jean simply captured his lips again and parted his willing lips with his tongue. It was slick and hot and a tad bit messy but perfect in every way. It stole Marco’s breath straight from his lungs as. Jean’s hands began to wander, traveling up from his hips, ghosting over his back before sliding around his ribs to his chest. They glided over his pecs and the feeling caused Marco to inhale sharply through his nose, trying not to break their kiss.

 

That only lasted a moment longer, Marco pulling away to let out a soft, breathless noise when Jean’s fingers carefully pinched one nipple. He felt the heat in his cheeks grow hotter as his pants grew tighter. Jean wasted no time in latching his mouth onto Marco’s neck and tangling their legs together, the insides of his thighs pressing firmly just below Marco’s hips.

 

Jean bit down on the juncture of his neck and shoulder as he rolled his hips up into Marco’s. 

 

All Marco’s efforts to muffle his groan of pleasure were utterly in vain. Jean repeated the motion, but not in a desperate thrust, instead a long, arching swell that had Marco wanting to pin Jean down, take control and ride him until they were both satisfied.

 

The hazy fog that was beginning to take over his senses gave Marco a sense of confidence, his nerves melting away as he shamelessly met the crest of Jean’s next thrust with one of his own. Jean was clearly pleased by this, a low growl passing through his lips as he sucked on a sensitive section of Marco’s neck.

 

Jean’s hands worked magic over him until Marco felt like his very skin was on fire and he was rutting uselessly against the body beneath him, silently wishing there weren’t so many layers of fabric separating them. His face was buried somewhere near Jean’s ear, his forehead almost leaning against the arm of the couch, so he whispered, breathless, “Jean, please.”

 

Jean hummed in response, his tongue tracing a mindless pattern across Marco’s skin as he scooted himself lower so he could give Marco’s collarbones the attention they deserved. Marco whined at Jean’s lack of response, but leaned up just enough that Jean could trail his lips low enough to press them just to the left of one nipple, making his breath hitch. 

 

Marco’s fingers clutched desperately at the fabric of the couch beneath his hands as his hips rocked against Jean’s lower abdomen. He could feel Jean grinding his own hardness against his thigh and thinking about it made him short of breath. 

 

Jean’s tongue circled the tender flesh under his mouth and then he let his teeth nibble carefully and tug on the hypersensitive skin. Marco keened softly above him and Jean pressed his lips softly against the spot he had just abused before mumbling against Marco’s skin. “Marco…” His voice had taken on that low, husky tone that sent shivers of anticipation down Marco’s spine. When he didn’t get a reply, Jean moved his moved away from Marco’s chest and looked up at his flushed face. “Marco, look at me,” he said. The low note of authority made Marco open his eyes immediately to gaze down at Jean.

 

From his tone, he had expected Jean to look serious but Marco saw only the mischievous twinkle in his eyes and the sly curve of his smirk. The movement of his body had come to a stop beneath him and Marco became suspicious of that look. Marco narrowed his eyes as a means of voicing this suspicion and Jean only looked at him innocently. Those evil hands slid down over Marco’s speckled back and deftly slipped under the hem of his jeans, wiggling their way inside to run over Marco’s backside, now only covered in the thin fabric of his boxers. Marco bit his lip and harshened his stare, willing Jean to just spit it out already, because it was obvious he wanted something very specific.

 

“Marco.” A nip to a collarbone. “Do you.” A lick up the side of his neck. “Want to.” A wet kiss just under his ear. “Do me a favor?” Hot words and breath spilling into his ear and drawing the flush of his cheeks all the way to the crown of his head.

 

Summoning the ability to speak, Marco shifted so he could peek at Jean, who seemed to almost be...hiding. “Well, that depends…” he said quietly in response, taking his hand off the arm of the couch to place it on Jean’s chest and run it greedily over the planes of lean muscle.

 

Jean let out a measured moan, and the noise went straight to Marco’s cock, which was now begging for some kind of release. Jean’s hands squeezed at his ass, making his hips jerk embarrassingly. Jean was still grinning as he bit his lip, met Marco’s eye and then deliberately looked down and away.

 

Marco’s brow furrowed in confusion. Was Jean embarrassed? That was something that never happened. Concerned, Marco ducked his head down to try to catch Jean’s eye and he did. But Jean didn’t look embarrassed at all. He simply stared up at Marco and then looked purposefully away again. 

 

Marco tilted his head in confusion, this time following Jean’s line of sight to...oh dear Lord. Jean was looking pointedly at the still-open sketchbook that lay on top of his guitar in its open case. And more importantly, staring at the piece of “art” that lived on the page. That’s what Jean wanted from him.

 

Heat rushed Marco’s face like an all-consuming supernova and he spluttered as he struggled to find something to say in response. Jean was simply smiling up at him as he carded a hand through Marco’s hair, waiting patiently for him to get over his shock.

 

In a different world, Marco would say no. He’d scoff at Jean and roll his eyes and just delve back into kissing him and rutting against his body, but in this world, Jean always got his way when it came to sex. There was something about that carefree grin and those taunting, sneaky eyes that had Marco hot and bothered from head-to-toe and shoving any insecurities or worries away. He liked to see Jean happy, liked to see him when he let loose in the throes of pleasure and especially liked knowing that only he, Marco, could do that to him. 

 

So when he’d gotten over his initial terror -- thanks, in part, to Jean’s hands running soothingly through his hair and over his hip -- he pressed his lips into a hard, determined line. He swung himself nimbly off the couch and then offered his hand to Jean, who raised an eyebrow but took the help up willingly. Marco lead Jean to the armchair on the other side of the coffee table and pushed him into it with little finesse. He leaned to press a hard, firm kiss to Jean’s mouth, which was accepted all-too-eagerly, before he turned away. 

 

Marco quelled the nerves in his stomach as he turned his back on Jean, who lounged in the armchair, silently appreciating the bespeckled span of Marco’s strong, toned back. There was nothing to be nervous about, Marco told himself. It wasn’t as if there were parts of him Jean hadn’t seen before. They’d been through far too much together to worry about silly things like bare skin and physical contact.

 

He still didn’t dare peek over his shoulder as he undid his jeans and slid them over his hips before letting go of them to let them pool on the floor, his belt making a dull clank against the hardwood. He could feel Jean’s gaze burning holes into his back as he tucked his thumbs hesitantly under the hem of his underwear before taking a deep breath and letting those fall as well. He then stepped carefully away from his clothes, kicking them toward the coffee table a little bit before turning to settle back onto the couch, this time seated with one elbow resting on the arm of the couch, just as Jean had depicted in his drawing. 

 

Jean eyes greedily soaked up the image of Marco’s ass when his boxers fell away and everything else that was presented to him when he partner turned and draped himself on the couch like an elegant throw blanket. He could tell that Marco was doing everything in his power not to look at him, but even so, the blush that had taken up permanent residency on his cheeks was beginning to spread, creeping up his ears and down his throat. Something about it was so profoundly beautiful that Jean couldn’t find it within himself to feel guilty for causing it.

 

As Marco settled in on the couch and tentatively let his hands start wandering the planes of his own body, over his chest and legs, Jean realized two things: first, no artist, not even a good one, could capture the beauty that was Marco Bodt and second, Jean had failed to incorporate one very important thing in his own drawing. 

 

Tension.

 

Marco was tauter than a rubber band stretched over the distance from the earth to the moon. Jean had drawn him how he’d imagined him, at ease and relaxed, enjoying himself. Not that Marco looked like he wasn’t enjoying himself, but he was definitely more nervous that the cartoon-expression Jean had drawn could have ever hoped to encompass.

 

Pushing thoughts of two-dimensional Marco out of his mind, Jean quickly became transfixed with how Marco’s hands traveled. He knew exactly what they would feel like, ghosting over his nipples, tracing the planes of muscle, skimming his inner thigh until he finally lifted one leg to stretch it out onto the couch beside him and curled his fingers around his cock.

 

The noise that resounded in the air was low and keening and it took Jean a moment to realize it had come from him and not Marco. Marco didn’t pay it any mind and whether that was a conscious effort or due to the fact that he had more pressing matters at hand, went entirely unknown. 

 

It only took a few minutes before Marco was eagerly pumping his cock with reckless abandon, the knuckles of his free hand jammed up against his teeth to keep himself from crying out. The flush on his face had spread all the way to his chest and his eyes were screwed shut, a small crease forming in the middle of his eyebrows.

 

The sight had Jean’s own cock straining against the confinement of his shorts so he palmed himself roughly through the fabric, groaning in relief. “Marco, take your hand away,” he said, his voice scratchy with arousal.

 

Marco didn’t have to ask which hand he meant and immediately moved his fingers away from his mouth, letting his harsh breath pant out undisturbed. He whimpered as he rubbed his thumb over the head of his own cock, desperately seeking the peak of his pleasure.

 

“Say it,” came Jean’s next command, and again Marco didn’t have to ask.

 

It took a moment before his mouth could formulate words, but he finally let out, on a whine, “J-Jean…” He gasped for breath before starting again, trying to put more strength into his voice. “Jean, p-please…”

 

Jean couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved away from the armchair and stalked back to the couch, dropping harshly to his knees onto the floor in front of Marco. 

 

Marco was startled when he felt Jean’s hands on him, one on his right thigh, pushing it away to spread it like his left, and the other peeling Marco’s own hand away from his leaking cock. Marco opened his eyes then, looking down at Jean with a hooded gaze. “Jean…”

 

Jean smiled at him then, softer and more loving than before. “Shh…” he murmured, planting a sweet kiss to the inside of a freckled thigh. Jean’s thumbs rubbed gently against Marco’s knees before they moved down and under Marco’s backside to lift him and pull him forward a bit, giving Jean access to the most private parts of him.

 

At once, Jean’s fingers curled around Marco’s abandoned cock, and he tucked his head, leaning in to place a sloppy, wet kiss against his entrance. A tortured, strangled noise escaped Marco at this and Jean hummed delightedly in response, circling his tongue around the puckered flesh as his hand assumed a lazy, stroking rhythm.

 

Marco’s hands sifted through Jean’s hair, desperately seeking something to ground himself as Jean’s tongue pushed, slick and obscene, past that tight ring of muscle. Jean continued thrusting his tongue in and out, and Marco could feel his hot, heavy breath tickling at him. Marco had to quell the urge to roll his hips up into the grip of Jean’s hand, but he was so close…

 

He probably would have come right then if Jean hadn’t wrapped his fingers tightly around the base of his cock and pulled his mouth away. Marco’s whine of disappoint was entirely shameless as he felt the pleasure ebb away slowly until he could actually catch his breath.

 

Jean looked up at Marco’s flushed face, smiling prettily at him. Marco’s lips were still red and swollen from his kisses as his mouth hung slightly agape, his wet eyes looking down at Jean, pleading with him. “Jean,” he whispered.

 

“Mm...Marco,” Jean mumbled in response, keeping his eyes locked onto Marco’s as he shifted forward a little bit to place a kiss at the tip of his cock. Marco whined softly, hips jerking in response. Jean contained his chuckle but just barely. 

 

Jean put his own fingers in his mouth for a quick second, efficiently wetting them before replacing his fingers with the head of Marco’s cock, swirling his tongue around it as he prodded at Marco’s hole with his fingers. 

 

The hands in Jean’s hair tightened as a low moan tore itself out of Marco’s throat. As Marco’s hips twitched upwards, seeking more of that wet heat, Jean placed his left hand on his hip, holding him in place.

 

Soon, Jean adopted a bobbing rhythm, causing lewd, slurping sounds to fill the air around them. Marco seemed far more relaxed and was no longer trapping the noises that rose to his lips, but instead letting them out in between his ragged breaths. Just as Jean took Marco as far as he could, the tip of his cock touching the back of his throat, he also curled his fingers inside of him just so. 

 

Marco nearly shouted at the sensation rippling up his spine and he almost wanted to apologize to Jean for how tightly he was now gripping his hair, but no words came out of his mouth, simply unintelligible whimpers and moans. 

 

It wasn’t long before that searing heat began to prick at Marco again and he tugged on Jean’s hair lightly in warning. “J-Jean… Jean, I --”

 

Jean pulled away from him then, leaving his fingers buried deep inside him but pulling his mouth away with a greedy gasp of fresh air. Jean watched as Marco’s brow knitted and his jaw clenched, trying to trap the noise of distress that bubbled up in his throat.

 

Jean held tightly to the base of Marco’s cock and flicked his fingers over that bundle of nerves inside him, causing Marco to whine. “Jean, please, I -- I can’t take much more of this,” he begged desperately, meeting Jean’s look with eyes that seemed like they were having a hard time staying open.

 

Jean took pity on him then and crawled up his body so he could reach Marco’s lips with his own. In Jean’s mouth, Marco could taste something of himself, and the thought alone sent shivers down his spine. Jean took time to thoroughly ravage Marco’s mouth, nibbling on his lower lip until Marco reached out and rubbed his hand against Jean’s still-clothed, weeping erection. Jean pulled away with a hiss on his lips.

 

“Jean…” Marco’s voice was feather-light as he rubbed against Jean, his breath ghosting over Jean’s lips. “C’mon Jean…”

 

Jean almost pulled back to raise an eyebrow at him. Was Marco trying to tempt him? Well, whatever it was, it worked. Jean fumbled with the button and the zipper of his shorts, muttering a hurried, “Turn over,” to Marco, who would’ve blushed at the request if his face wasn’t so red already. He did oblige him, turning so his knees rested on the floor in front of Jean and he rested his elbows on the couch.

 

Jean was busy digging through the drawer in the coffee table, finding a small bottle of lube where they kept it carefully tucked away. When he looked up, Marco was looking at him over his shoulder with bedroom eyes, biting his lip in anticipation. Stifling a groan, Jean slicked up his cock and positioned himself against Marco’s hole. Marco automatically spread his thighs a little more.

 

The entrance was an obscenely easy glide and Marco couldn’t help the long sigh that came out of him as he felt Jean’s hips finally meet his backside. Jean seemed content to sit there, wait a moment, but Marco pushed back impatiently. “Don’t wait,” he gasped. “Hurry.”

 

Jean was not a man that needed to be told twice. His cock had suffered enough neglect; he was so hard he thought he might burst. The feeling of Marco’s tight walls wrapped around him was heavenly as he began thrusting at a slow pace, fingers digging into Marco’s hips as he pulled at them. Marco, for his own part, tried to upset Jean’s rhythm, pleading with him to quicken his tempo. 

 

It was only so long before Jean gave in to those pleas, pulling on Marco’s hips to change their angle ever so slightly until moans were pouring out of Marco’s mouth, uncontrolled. Eventually, Marco’s hand wandered down to his own cock to begin stroking in earnest, but Jean pulled his hand away, pinning beside his face which rested on the couch. Marco whined in frustration but didn’t stop pushing back against Jean’s thrusts.

 

“Jean!” he called, voice ragged and short of breath. “Jean, please… Please!” Jean only grunted in response, ready to let Marco beg a little longer. “Please, Jean, please touch my cock. Please, I want to- I need to come, please, Jean…” Marco rambled on, words tumbled out of his mouth, completely unashamed now. There was something that Jean found incredibly sexy about Marco begging for Jean to let him come. All sense of embarrassment and innocence had been stripped away, replaced with sheer, reckless desperation. 

 

Deciding he’d tortured his partner enough, Jean leaned forward to place a gentle kiss in between Marco’s shoulder blades, finding the skin there slick with a thin sheen of sweat, before reaching down and taking hold of his cock.

 

It was mere seconds before Marco was spilling over his hand, crying out Jean’s name like a mantra. Jean was quick to follow behind him, the build up and the feeling of Marco clenching around him enough to send him over the edge.

 

Jean carefully pulled out of Marco, almost wincing at the mess that dripped down Marco’s thighs. He turned, searching briefly before finding his ratty tank top and wiping Marco, mostly, clean. He nudged his still-shaking boyfriend, urging him onto the couch. Marco happily obliged, trapped in a euphoric haze.

 

Jean quickly wiped the mess on the hardwood floor as well and then stood, kicking away his shorts and underwear as he did so. Marco had already sprawled his body across the length of the couch, unabashed in his nakedness thanks to the cloud he was floating on. Jean smirk at him for a moment before manhandling him into a better position so that Jean could wrap his arms around him and bury his nose in his neck.

 

Marco hummed contentedly at Jean’s touch and reached up to run his fingers through Jean’s hair. “I love you, Jean,” he said, voice rough from moaning.

 

He could feel Jean’s smile against his skin. “I love you too, Marco.”

 

They sat like that for the long space of a few moments before Marco commented idly, “You know, Game of Thrones is going to be on soon.”

 

“What? Turn it on!” Jean said excitedly. Game of Thrones was his favorite show and part of their Sunday night ritual; he’d be damned if he missed it because of some silly thing like a post-orgasmic haze.

 

Marco chuckled at him before reaching for the remote. He quickly tuned in to HBO and resettled himself on the couch as the few commercials played before the show came on. Automatically he shifted so he was leaning back, feet up on the coffee table, and Jean was tucked under his arm. Usually, during Game of Thrones he wouldn’t let Jean get that close, but he could make an exception just this once. Jean snuggled into his side and reached to pull the throw blanket off the back of the couch, tossing it over them.

 

Marco realized his mistake near the end of the episode as Robb Stark’s new wife was stabbed several times in her pregnant stomach. Jean shouted in disbelief and horror, squirming against Marco’s side. If that wasn’t bad enough, Robb himself took several arrows to the chest and Jean was flailing all over again. “Oh. My. God. No! He was so attractive!” he caterwauled.

 

There were more outbursts of “Jesus, is he still alive?! How is he talking?!” and “Oh, my God, I swear if they kill Catelyn too!” and finally some real, genuine (not) sobbing when Robb’s eyes finally glazed over and someone ran a knife right across Catelyn’s throat.

 

Jean was practically in pieces at this point. Marco himself was rather surprised (and definitely upset) but Jean was an absolute wreck. Robb had been “his boyfriend” after all. 

 

“I literally can’t believe this,” Jean exclaimed as the credits rolled.

 

“I too am very shocked,” Marco agreed.

 

“Oh, please. You’re probably glad Robb is dead so you don’t have to fight him for my affections.”

 

Marco’s eyes went wide as he swatted at Jean playfully. “That is not true! You know I supported your love affair as long as you supported me with Jon Snow!” 

 

Jean sat up then, narrowing his eyes at Marco. “Which I don’t anymore, by the way. If my man is dead then you have to give yours up.”

 

“That is entirely unfair and uncalled for.”

 

“Those are just the rules,” Jean said firmly before falling back onto the couch, away from Marco to stretch out and put his feet in Marco’s lap. He tried to stifle a yawn, but he fooled no one.

 

“Why don’t you go to bed?” Marco asked, resting a hand on one of Jean’s calves. 

 

Jean shook his head. “Uh-uh. Penny Dreadful is about to come on. Do you think I’m about to miss Ethan Chandler? No way, José.”

 

Marco shrugged, changing the channel. “Whatever you say…”

 

As they waited through the few brief minutes of commercials once again, Jean picked up Marco’s sketchbook from where it still lay on top of his guitar. He snorted at the drawing he’d done earlier. “This really is quite atrocious…” he said, more to himself than to Marco.

 

Marco scrunched his nose at him. “No, it’s not that bad…” he said, though a light blush dusted his cheeks.

 

Jean raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh really? You’d like to hang this in the hall then? Right next to your painting of the water lilies?”

 

Marco chuckled at that. “No… I wouldn’t say that… But I’d… well, I’d like to keep it,” he admitted, looking away from Jean’s eyes.

 

“You little perv…” 

 

Marco’s blush intensified as his head snapped back up to look at Jean, completely mortified. “It’s not like that!” he defended. “It’s just… Well, I like that you wanted to draw me is all.” He paused, looking at Jean’s incredulous face. “I liked your drawing, okay?” he said, exasperated.

 

A slow, sly, slinking smirk slithered onto Jean’s lips. “Well, good,” he said. “I’m glad.” His words did not match his expression, but before Marco had the chance to answer, the opening to Penny Dreadful was playing and Jean was shushing him.

 

Sure enough, Marco was right and Jean was asleep about seven minutes into the episode, mouth hanging open, one arm falling off the couch, lightly snoring. It was a little distracting, but completely adorable. Marco liked art, but it was the subject matter that was truly beautiful.

 

A few minutes later, he finally couldn’t resist the urge to lean and sneakily take his sketchpad off of Jean’s chest, which rose and fell slowly with each breath.

 

As Marco put his pencil to paper to begin capturing that perfect look, he couldn’t help but smile fondly at Jean. He was going to be said that he slept through Dorian and Ethan kissing.


End file.
